Cycle
by Uphill Both Ways
Summary: John Mandrake is dead, and the world moves on regardless, but Nathaniel lives on in the memory of his djinni.


**A/n: Done as a Chapter 40 for Ptolemy's Gate.**

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The space around me begins to tighten and clench uncomfortably, hooks seem to be clinging to my essence and without sparing another moment, I take on the form of a Cheshire-grinning sphinx just as a familiar pentacle comes into focus. Time doesn't influence the Other Place, but I know it's been a long while since I was last summoned. Despite the visibly shaking form of the lanky, obviously mediocre magician, I'm not in the mood to mess around with the poor sap. It's a shame he wasn't nervous enough to misplace a line with his chalk. I gather what I feel would be a intimidating baritone voice, the kind that reverberates off of walls and stimulates shivers, and question the insult to humanity.

"To what do I owe this summons?"

Now, I'm pretty sure I've done a pretty good job with scaring the pale fellow, considering I've been out of practice for a few decades. Pride quickly turns to slight irritation since the perspiring mess still seems like he's finding his own voice. I'm wondering if I've gained bonus points to my reputation since that incident with Nouda and the staff.

While the man summons the energy to speak to the great djinni that I am, I give him a once over. The man is wearing an oversized, pale tweed suit, continuously fidgeting with the hems of his sleeves or shirt with his fingers, and he keeps shifting his weight from foot to foot in his tight leather shoes. His hair has been combed back in what I suppose must be the new style though it looks rather ridiculous with oil gleaming greasily in the strands of brunet. It can't be worse than Nathaniel's early mop of hair, though.

As a somewhat unpleasant onslaught of memories starts edging in, the man finally makes a sound somewhere between a cough and a squeak.

"You shall refer to me as Gregory Drew..."

I refrain from rolling my eyes at the completely bland alias. Honestly, I think these magicians just try as hard as they can to get less and less creative.

"...and I have a charge for you Bartimaeus."

Surprise, surprise! The quivering fool has a charge for me! And here I was, thinking I'd been invited to tea. Pity. I patiently await for the order to come out-the painful scent of rosemary has been steadily growing-so I can fulfill my charge and be dismissed as quickly as possible. I just hope this man isn't the ambitious type-sure doesn't look like it. Seems just like another terrified puppet of the British government.

Again, those annoying thoughts of that idiot boy begin resurfacing.

To my relief, the man-Gregory-has gathered his wits and no longer seems like he could fall over with every breath, and he says;

"I need you to retrieve the Amulet of Samarkand-"

He's got to be joking.

"-from the convict, Kathleen Jones, who managed to obtain it this morning. Return to me once the charge has been fulfilled."

Okay, at this point I'm half expecting hidden cameras to pop out. I mean, Kitty and Nathaniel's amulet all at once? Of course, I wasn't even sure that Kitty was still alive until this point. Well, when Gregory says nothing more, I suppose that the charge is legitimate and that I'd better get going before he tries to pull out the Shriveling Fire. Instead of inquiring as to why the strong, indestructible, independent British government needs a djinni to catch a rebellious girl, I get straight to the point. Gregory doesn't deserve my witty banter.

"Understood."

And with a self-assured nod, my good pal Greg is muttering a final incantation and I'm soaring above London on the wings of a raven. Now, normally, finding a runaway girl in England shouldn't be difficult, especially when she's armed with a magic-radiating object like the Amulet. But most girls aren't Kitty Jones, an experienced and wanted Resistance criminal.

A chill runs down my spine at the thought, but I blame the nippy autumn evening air. Eyeing a newspaper in some shivering child's hands, I learn that it's November twenty-sixth, exactly twelve years since Nathaniel's death. Something tells me that Kitty did this intentionally, though I'm not sure why.

Four hours into the search, and my essence throbs and I'm aching to go back to the Other Place. I suppose I should carry out my orders quickly, but somehow I've detoured to London Square and I'm sure it has something to do with the thoughts of Kitty and that boy.

That's when I notice the unfamiliar landmark in the center of the Square. I land on a branch in a tree opposite the structure, and gaze at the slab of stone.

Looking at the statue they resurrected in memory of John Mandrake, I feel the inexplicable urge to dash out the government-issued alias etched into the base. No matter who he wanted to be, no matter what he strived to become, and no matter how long he'd been 'John'—that boy had died as Nathaniel. Anything else on that plaque is an insult.

And with the sudden heat of anger, I realize the vague thrumming of magic against my essence. I glance in the direction of the source. If I had a jaw, I'm sure it would've dropped. Sitting there, in plain sight, gazing at the statue of Mandrake, sat Kitty Jones, now age twenty-eight⁷ with the Amulet of Samarkand dangling loosely from her grasp. I guess the government hasn't thought of looking in plain sight.

I make my way over to the young woman, now in Ptolemy's guise, half-hoping that she'll recognize me, half-hoping that she won't. It would make taking the Amulet so much easier, since I'm sure she won't go down without a fight, and I'm sure her resilience is stronger than ever. Her head of long dark hair doesn't even turn my way as I plop myself down on the bench beside her.

For a while, neither of us say anything. I can tell by the way she slightly leans subconsciously in my direction that she remembers me. I want to ask why she did it, if she knew it would be I who was summoned, and what she planned on doing with the amulet. But sitting in the shadow of bristling, fading trees, with this girl who I haven't seen in twelve years and wasn't even sure was alive, my tongue stays knotted.

She breaks the aching silence.

"Sometimes I wish I would've gotten the chance to get a last word in with Mandrake."

The thought alone is enough to make my eyes widen a fraction-too quick for her human sight to catch-because I've never seen her as the sentimental type. Though who knows what the years have done. I do answer, respectively, because she's the only human I feel worthy enough to talk to. The only person alive that I can consider a 'friend'.

"Yeah, me too," I answer half-heartedly, letting my eyes fall elsewhere.

I'm surprised at the truth in my own words. Since being summoned, I've tried to stop my thoughts from straying to the stubborn Nathaniel, because I know I owe him so much more than my existence, and that's something no prideful djinni like myself wants to admit. At that moment, I know she isn't going to keep the Amulet. Quietly, almost as if sparing breath for another thought, Kitty asks a whimsical question while still staring at the ground;

"What would you've said?"

What would I, Bartimaeus of Uruk, Rekhyt of Alexandria, Necho of Jerusalem, Sakhr Al-Jinni, N'Gorso The Mighty, Wakonda of the Algonquin, Serpent of Silver Plumes, who built the walls of Uruk, Karnak, Jericho, and Prague, who served under the might of Ptolemy, Gilgamesh, Tycho Brahe, Ramses and Nefertiti, who spoke with Solomon, say to that scrawny little British boy?

I come up blank.


End file.
